


When The Wind Is Southerly

by inlovewithnight



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-16
Updated: 2005-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:16:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The illness in question is acute intermittent porphyria, sometimes called “the madness of King George,” which is weirdly era-appropriate...clearly, I am not a doctor, and most of my information on the illness came from portrayals on TV, supplemental research via Google, and mini-accounts I’ve read about King George III.  This is fictional-license AIP and probably bears little resemblance to the actual illness.</p><p>Quotations:<br/>“I am but mad north-northwest.  When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw”- Hamlet<br/>“Reason and love keep little company nowadays”- Midsummer Night’s Dream<br/>“ Our little lives are rounded with a sleep”- The Tempest<br/>“If poisonous serpents, and that tree...”- John Donne, sonnets<br/>“Remember thee!  Ay, poor ghost...” - Hamlet<br/></p></blockquote>





	When The Wind Is Southerly

It was a lovely village, but certainly farther from the sea than he ever would have expected to find two Navy men making their home. William Bush sat in the common room of the little town’s little inn, glancing at the door every time it opened,-- which, admittedly, wasn’t often-- watching the aggressively cheerful spring sunlight dance on the trees and the flowers and the dust of the road, and wondering what the Devil was keeping Kennedy.

At last, a figure stepped through the door that, while not so familiar as it would have been clad in uniform, was entirely recognizable nonetheless. Bush found himself grinning like a fool as he stood and offered his hand to Kennedy, who answered with a smile just as wide.

“William,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’s been too long.”

“Indeed it has.” Bush stepped back and studied the man carefully, looking him up and down. “I must say, Mr. Kennedy, you hardly look unfit for naval service.”

“Whoever said I was?” Kennedy chuckled, settling into a chair at Bush’s gesture and nodding to the serving girl.

“You did,” Bush reminded him, reclaiming his own seat. “In your grand quest for a discharge, after Kingston.”

“So I did.” Kennedy shook his head, smiling slightly at the memory; enough time had passed for that, at least. “You’re not going to go running to the Admiralty and foul my escape, are you, William?”

“Of course not.” Bush paused while full tankards were placed in front of them, and then sought to direct the conversation to lighter things. “You look well-- the country air must agree with you.”

“Oh, it’s excellent.” The polite neutrality of Kennedy’s voice belied the enthusiasm of the words. He turned the glass back and forth between flat palms. “Horatio grew up not far from here. It seemed a logical enough place to come.”

Ah, so they were going to approach the subject obliquely. Fair enough. “He has family here, then?”

“No.” Kennedy abruptly released the tankard, frowning at it as if it had offended him. “His father died some years ago-- even before he gained his commission, I believe-- and the rest were gone before that. But the climate, the scenery, they’re familiar to him. I’ve no idea if that makes a bit of difference, but it seemed like the thing to do.”

“You didn’t care to remain in London?” Most likely a foolish question, but it seemed like he ought to say _something_.

“No.” Kennedy’s face tightened. “No. Quiet, and privacy...seemed best. Both of us thought so.”

“You’re looking after your father’s business in the region?” Parroting facts from Kennedy’s letters was doubtlessly making him look like a fool, but they were the only things coming to mind and at least it would serve to show that he had _read_ the things.

Kennedy rubbed at his temples wearily. “Yes. His Lordship is gracious enough to provide a house and a small allowance in return. We hardly need much.”

Abruptly, Bush was exhausted by the delicate fencing about the subject. Enough. He made a reckless plunge to the heart of the matter-- the entire reason he had endured a coach ride from Portsmouth to this village, after all. “Mr. Kennedy-- Archie-- how is he?”

Kennedy blinked. “My father? He’s well, thank you for asking, Mr. Bush.”

“Damn it, man, you know I didn’t mean that.” Bush suppressed the desire to reach across the table and shake him. “How is Mr. Hornblower?”

“He’s all right.” Kennedy frowned at the table and placed his hand down deliberately, as if covering something unpleasant. Glancing up and seeing Bush’s skepticism, he went on. “He has good times, and bad. At the moment things are quite good. He looks forward to seeing you.” That was so transparent a lie that Bush could not help snorting in disbelief. “Well,” Kennedy amended, “I think it will do him good to see you.”

“I shall endeavor to lift his spirits,” Bush said, following Kennedy’s gaze to the door. “”You’re in a hurry to get back? Surely Mr. Hornblower can keep his own company for an hour.”

“Not precisely a hurry.” Kennedy’s smile was strained and thin about the edges, his mind clearly already halfway down the road back to whatever lodging his father’s money secured them. Bush did not precisely understand what bonds of friendship could compel a man to voluntarily return to such a state of dependence on his family ties. But then, there was a great deal about Kennedy-- and Hornblower-- and the bonds between the two-- that he did not precisely understand.

“If you’re so concerned for him after an hour’s solitude, I must question your belief that he’s quite well.”

That made Kennedy’s eyes flash, and his jaw set; suddenly he was the bold creature Bush had met on Renown, instead of the rather careworn-- he hated to use the word, but there it was-- man he’d seen thus far today.

“I recall Captain Sawyer saying that your flaw was that you are too honest, Mr. Bush. I’m afraid I must agree with him.” He finished the last swallow of his drink and pushed the tankard away. “He’s not alone. We have a house girl. But he doesn’t like her, and so out of simple courtesy and prudence I try not to leave them shut up together long enough to end up at each other’s throats.”

Bush could not help but laugh aloud. “Which of them do you fear is a danger to the other?”

Kennedy did not laugh. His shoulders slumped and his eyes closed, suddenly seeming exhausted. Bush had clearly stepped quite wrongly in his words, but he couldn’t think of a thing to do but press on.

“Mr. Kennedy, if it’s as bad as all that, would it not be best to place him in the care of--”

His eyes snapped open again, bright with genuine anger now, and if Bush had been less than a hardened veteran, he might well have flinched at the heat of his words. “Ship him off to Bedlam, you mean. Wash my hands of the trouble and pass him over to strangers.”

“Doctors,” Bush corrected, keeping his voice as neutral as he could under that accusing glare. “Surely professionals would know better how to help him.”

“Do you know what sort of treatment is preferred for this sort of affliction?” Kennedy asked, his words clipped and precise, as if he had fought this particular battle many times before. “The professionals believe it is best managed by setting out to break the patient like a horse. Strap him into a straitjacket, tie him to a chair, douse him with icy water when he becomes agitated--” He made a sharp gesture with one hand, as if cutting off the words would negate them. “And that is merely for noblemen so troubled. For someone of Horatio’s birth and station, I’m sure a beating would not be out of the question, should he be...excessively unruly.” He stopped, his face flushed and his breathing shallow, and Bush took the opportunity to speak while he regained his composure.

“I see you’ve investigated the possibility, at least.”

Kennedy stared blankly at him for a moment, then broke into a weary smile. “Honestly, William, you’ve met the man. Don’t you think Horatio’s been pushing that solution from the first? I’ve gone back and forth over this a thousand times.”

“Ah. Forgive me.” Now, of course, Bush remembered the bullheaded, self-sacrificing side of Hornblower, the man who went alone to destroy the fort at a single order. The one who would have submitted to the noose in Kingston without protest, had that capricious panel not decided that the execution of a grasping, ambitious First Lieutenant made a better cautionary tale. “When you put it that way, I must say I’m amazed that you’ve been able to keep winning those arguments. He’s a difficult man to sway in his path, Mr. Hornblower.”

“He’s got a brick for a brain,” Kennedy corrected wearily. “Fortunately, the only thing greater than his stubbornness is his terror of disappointing those he values. And I find myself among that happy few.” He looked from his empty tankard to William’s, pushed his chair back, and raised an eyebrow. “Shall we be off, then, Mr. Bush? You can evaluate him for yourself, and perhaps we’ll both be more comfortable with your making recommendations at that point.”

Kennedy did have a way of using words to cut a man off at the knees, Bush thought, nodding in acquiescence and following him out the door.  
***  
Logically, Archie could not blame William Bush for his rather cold analysis of the situation, based as it was on a handful of letters and Archie’s ill-concealed anxiety upon their meeting. Still, he had never been able to school his thoughts to pure logic, and hearing the one person he had unburdened himself to respond by saying, in essence, _Mad, you say? Have him locked up at once, and order another round!_ had left him with a strong desire to feed Bush his own teeth, perhaps followed by a taste of Archie’s shoe leather, or the taproom floor.

 _He can’t be expected to understand_ , he reminded himself as they walked along the dusty road from the village to the little house that he and Horatio shared. _You scarcely understand yourself, some days._ Bad days, in particular-- the worst of those would leave him shaking with exhaustion and borderline hysteria, quite ready to return his self-appointed burden, taken on sincerely enough in the name of love. But dear God, precious little good love did when you were being cursed at for a solid hour by something that wore your beloved’s face and body even as you told yourself that it wasn’t _him_ \--

“A very fine day,” Bush remarked, tipping his head back to study the sky.

“Yes,” Archie agreed automatically, and then shook himself. It _was_ a fine day, and he should enjoy it properly-- when was the last time he’d simply been out for a walk in such weather? Too long. He breathed in the scent of sunwarmed dust and plant life, closing his eyes and willing the tension in his neck and shoulders, the product of the endless roiling anxiety in his heart, to abate. Never an easy thing anymore, but harder now, unsure as he was of what was waiting for them at the house. Considering the scene that morning...he tensed again at the memory, seeing the terror and misery in Horatio’s eyes, hearing the pleading note in his voice.

 _“Archie, please, don’t bring him here, I’m not fit to be seen, I can’t bear it, please don’t--” The feel of that too-thin body trembling under his hands as he grabbed Horatio’s shoulders, trying to capture his attention and avert any panic before it could start._

 _“Horatio, there’s nothing to fear. You’re certainly fit, and William is a friend in any case.”_

 _Wide, wild dark eyes staring into his, begging for reassurance, and God, what cruel joke of fate was this, that the fearless Naval hero should be brought to a life of such blind terror? “He won’t stay too long?”_

 _“Only as long as you want him.” Easy enough to promise, and in all hope easy enough to enforce. “But he’s come a long way, and I can hardly turn him back as soon as he arrives. Now please, dearest, I’ve got to go, the coach is due soon...”_

If he’d been asked when they met, or on the Indy, or even in Kingston-- hell, any time before the advent of the Peace and the sudden, shocking first attack of Horatio’s illness-- Archie would have laughed himself sick at the very notion of having to soothe and placate Horatio Hornblower like a child. But fate was indeed a curious thing, and made playthings of the best of men. Even after everything, he still considered Horatio to be that.

They reached the lane that led to the neat white house. Archie ushered Bush through the gate and latched it securely behind them, more to preserve his own idea that this was a detached little world than because anyone might attempt to trespass. Few enough travelers used this road.

Bush squinted out at the rolling fields visible behind the house. “I assume you rent out to a local farmer?”

“My father does.” Better not to forget for a moment that they both lived on His Lordship’s charity. “It’s good land.”

“It looks it.” Bush seemed to have chosen hearty and cheerful as the tone for the visit, and Archie had to admit that it was far from the worst way to approach it. He could only hope that Horatio would indulge the man and not deliberately sabotage the entire afternoon.

It was an unkind thought, and he frowned at himself as he opened the door to the front entryway. “There are some very good orchards on the west slope--”

The appearance of the housemaid in the corridor stopped him. “Ah, Jane. Good. This is Lieutenant Bush, perhaps you could take his coat.” She was smiling, which would indicate that his prayers to avert disaster in his absence had not been entirely in vain. “Is Mr. Hornblower in the sitting room?”

“No, sir, he’s out in the back garden.” She hurried away with the coats before he could ask her to elaborate on that, leaving him gawping rather foolishly and earning himself a puzzled look from Bush.

“It’s so odd for him to go outside?” he asked lightly, glancing around the somber little entryway. It set a proper tone for the rest of the house; an ascetic vicar might live here, devoting himself to good work and prayer.

 _If we’re atoning for anything, it’s sins not our own-- though I doubt very much I could get Horatio to admit that._ “A bit odd,” he said, gesturing for William to precede him toward the kitchen door to the garden. “But I suppose he thought we might enjoy the fine weather.”

“We just walked a good while in it,” Bush pointed out good-naturedly. “But I’ve no objections.”

“Good,” Archie murmured, catching Jane’s eyes as she entered the kitchen. “Bring tea out when it’s ready,” he said, and she nodded before vanishing into the parlor after something or other. He hadn’t seen a great deal of need to insist on decorum and obedience from her-- whom did they hope to impress?-- but couldn’t help but flush at the thought of his mother’s face if she saw such a casual girl in Kennedy employ.

“Tiny thing,” Bush remarked. “You were afraid to leave Horatio home with that? I doubt she even comes to his shoulder.”

Archie smiled vaguely, his eyes automatically going to the hall mirror, searching his own face for bruises that logically he knew were long gone. That had been over a month ago, Horatio’s last truly bad spell, and really it wasn’t even _that_ terrible, contrary to Horatio’s own misery and remorse--

 _Recognition and horror overcoming the dull exhaustion in Horatio’s eyes, himself again after nearly a week of suffering. “I did that.” His voice was rough and hoarse, his throat still raw from shouting. “I hurt you.”_

 _“It wasn’t your fault.”_

 _“It was my fist.” He stared down at his hands, and yes, the knuckles of the right were split and red. “It’s gone too far, Archie, you must let me--”_

 _“No.” They weren’t having that fight again. “I won’t, and I’ve told you a hundred times that I won’t.”_

 _“More times than that,” he sighed, dropping his hands to his lap and looking away. He looked so like his old self at that moment, his jaw set in the familiar old line of frustration, his face his own instead of swollen and darkened with the toxic humors choking his body--_

“Shall we go out, then?” Bush asked, a hint of worry in his voice, and Archie realized he had lost himself in his thoughts for a very long moment.

“Of course,” he said, as lightly as he could manage. “After you.”

The garden was small and not terribly well-kept; Archie had no interest in it, Horatio had none beyond wishing it was as orderly as a quarterdeck, and Jane claimed to rarely have the time to look to it one way or the other. Horatio had apparently prevailed upon her to carry a few chairs to the far end, near the edge of the orchard. He sat there now, slumped slightly down in the cushion with his eyes closed and his head tipped as if listening for something far away. If not for the tense set of his jaw and forehead, Archie would have thought him entirely relaxed.

He must have been waiting for footsteps, because as Archie and Bush approached, he opened his eyes and sat straighter, twisting to face them and offering a shy smile.

“Mr. Hornblower,” Bush said, clasping his hand warmly. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” came the soft-spoken reply, without hesitation; Archie silently thanked God for easing the man’s anxieties of the morning. “Please, though, we’re only friends here. It must be Horatio.”

“Very well,” Bush said affably, smiling and settling himself in the chair to Horatio’s left. “I must say, sir, I’m surprised to find you out here in the country. Don’t you know there’s a war on?”

Horatio glanced from Bush to Archie, startled, uncertain of where he stood between pride and honesty. Archie suppressed a wince at Bush’s clumsiness-- yes, he appreciated the act that all was quite well, but there was such a thing as grace, for God’s sake--

“Of course you’re just having a bit of fun, William,” Archie said, forcing his voice to sound as light and normal as possible. “I told you that Horatio’s been fighting his own war against some rather nasty inflammation of the lungs.”

Relief crossed Horatio’s face, open and unmasked, at the idea of being able to hide behind some false colors that were free of shame. Bush hesitated a bare second before following Archie’s lead.

“Of course,” he said, before promptly putting his foot in it again. “I’m sure you’ll shake it off and be back aboard ship within the summer.”

Archie could very cheerfully have throttled the man. Horatio reddened a little, looking away, but quickly composed himself.

“I fear not,” he said, regret clear in his voice, though his posture remained relaxed as if indifferent. “It seems that my lungs are weakened, more than it’s quite reasonable to hope for repair. In fact,” and now he did stiffen in his chair a bit, avoiding Archie’s gaze and fixing his own carefully on the grass at his feet., “I thought perhaps you could do me the favor of carrying my letter of resignation back to London. I’ve drawn no pay since the Peace ended, of course, since I haven’t served, but it hardly seems right to remain on the rolls if I won’t be--”

Archie didn’t realize he’d dug his fingernails into his palms until he felt the sharp sting of the skin breaking. It was very much like watching a death, there in the bright, sunny garden, as Horatio quietly severed the ties to the life he’d loved.

“Of course,” Bush said gently, and Archie absently thought that he probably should be grateful that the man saw the delicacy of this moment, at least.

“Very well,” Horatio said, glancing back over his shoulder at the house. “The letter’s on the hall table, remind me to give it to you before you go...Archie, I think Jane needs your help with that.”

Bush and Archie both turned, and sure enough, the girl was struggling to carry a little tea-table through the door.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Archie murmured, glancing at Horatio as he stood.

Horatio met his eyes with a level, utterly calm gaze, and Archie felt some of the terrible strain in his shoulders ease. Yes, Horatio was _here_ , completely; there was nothing to fear this afternoon, at least.

“You should probably help her with the tea as well,” Horatio said. “I imagine she’ll spill the lot of it otherwise.”  
***  
“Archie mentioned that you’re not fond of the girl,” Bush observed as Kennedy hurried across the lawn.

Horatio’s cheeks darkened. “Did he,” he muttered, tucking his chin close to his chest and frowning down at some unoffending pansies. “I wouldn’t put it so strongly as that-- I suppose I merely find her a bit saucy. More forward than is proper.” The last words were careful measured out, a furrow appearing between Hornblower’s brows as he spoke.

Silence stretched out for a moment, as Archie carried the table over and settled it between the chairs before returning to the house to fetch the tea. “What’s your current ship, William?” Horatio asked suddenly, his eyes still fixed on the flowers.

“Ah-- the Hotspur,” Bush stammered, startled by Hornblower’s abrupt shift to the topic of the Navy. After agreeing to tender the man’s resignation, he’d expected to edge away from the topic for the rest of the afternoon.

“Really?” Horatio’s face softened at the name. “How excellent. Where was your last tour?”

Bush half-heartedly began to describe his most recent mission, unsure of how much detail Hornblower would care to hear. The man went after his words as if starving, though, eyes wide and sparking to life in that pale, thin face-- so much more so than Bush remembered from Kingston. Horatio pressed him with constant questions, even after Kennedy and the girl returned and tea was poured. Bush found himself talking through the entire meal, able to eat and drink only when Hornblower was asking his questions, and uncomfortably aware the entire time that Kennedy was glaring at him as though he was torturing the man instead of indulging him.

Horatio settled back in his chair with a sigh when Bush finally reached the story’s end, gazing off into the sky as if what he truly saw was the ocean. “A fine mission, sir,” he murmured, an almost childlike smile playing at his lips. “I do salute you.” Jane reached over his shoulder to collect the dishes, and he came back to himself with a visible shake. “Did you happen to bring your coat, William?”

Bush blinked and shot a questioning glance at Kennedy, who shrugged. “Yes.”

“Jane,” Horatio said, not looking at her. “Could you bring Mr. Bush’s coat out here for a moment?” He glanced at Bush. “If you don’t mind, William?”

“Of course,” Bush said, still hopelessly puzzled. Horatio did look at Jane then, and nodded sharply. She gathered the dishes and hurried toward the house, glaring at the back of his head as she went.

“How is your family, William?” Kennedy asked, clearly hoping to steer the conversation in a happier way, but their awkward efforts were lost when Jane returned and presented Horatio with the armful of heavy blue wool. He took it almost reverently, his fingers caressing the rough fabric as gently as a lover, and Bush saw Kennedy’s jaw clench with helpless frustration.

Hornblower’s hands wandered over the jacket, lingering on each button, tracing each line of stitching, and Bush felt as if he ought to look away, as if he was inadvertently witnessing a moment of intense privacy. Horatio’s hands shook a little, and he brought the jacket to his face, seeking the scent of the sea buried in the wool, and Bush did look away then.

Archie spoke in a low, harsh voice, sounding torn between anger and tears. “Horatio, for God’s sake.”

Horatio stilled, then thrust the jacket toward Jane. “My apologies,” he muttered. “That will be all, Jane, thank you.” He gripped the arms of his chair white-knuckled, his face dark with embarrassment. “Forgive me, Mr. Bush.”

“Of course,” Bush said, glancing warily from Hornblower to Kennedy and back. The notion of pretending all was well this afternoon was suffering worse by the moment and clearly destined not to survive. He had no idea where one might safely tread here, since he was bound by the lie of pretending he knew nothing about Hornblower’s illness.

“Archie, you look tired.” Horatio’s voice was neutral again, his posture relaxing with an evident exertion of will as he looked over at his friend.

“I’m all right,” Kennedy said softly, reaching down to pluck a blade of grass and roll it between his fingers.

“You should go inside and rest,” Hornblower went on, his tone light and pleasant enough for the words to be a mere suggestion, but something in the air between them suggested that a card of some worth was being played. For the thousandth time, Bush cursed their mysterious personal code. “I’m sure William and I can find enough to talk about to while away the afternoon.”

Kennedy looked ready to protest for a moment, but whatever thing Hornblower had touched on, it was enough to bring capitulation. “If you’re sure you don’t mind, I suppose I could use a bit of a nap.”

“We promise not to run away and join the Gypsies,” Horatio said, a slight, fond smile on his lips. Kennedy smiled in return, his hand falling lightly on Hornblower’s shoulder in an absent caress as he moved toward the house.

“Very well. Excuse me, gentlemen.”

When he was out of earshot, Horatio let out a great sigh, slumping down in his chair as if every muscle had gone limp. “He’ll return in less than an hour and claim he’s entirely refreshed. It will be a blessing for him when I’m gone, he might finally get a decent sleep again.”

“Gone, sir?” Bush asked with what he considered to be finely studied confusion. “Where are you going?”

“Please, William,” Horatio said, closing his eyes. “As it’s said, I’m but mad north-northwest. When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.” He opened one eye and pinned Bush with a level stare. “And while I may be mad, I am not an idiot, nor entirely lacking in powers of observation.”

“My apologies if you took offense,” Bush said finally, inwardly wincing at the stupidity of the words, but with no idea of what else to say.

Hornblower shrugged and settled deeper in his chair, tipping his head back to study the sky. “It will be a great deal easier to converse without frantically maintaining our lies, won’t it?”

“Indeed.” Bush studied the man’s face-- fatigued, pale, shadows under the eyes and skin stretched tight as sailcloth over the bone. He seemed to be taking near-sensuous pleasure in the feel of the sun on him, and Bush ventured to speculate. “You do not take the sun often, Horatio?”

Another shy smile, though his eyes remained closed and his head tilted back. “No. When I’m...unwell, I can’t bear the light. You probably saw the curtains inside.”

Bush had indeed-- massive drapes, pinned back at present but thick enough to turn the house dark as a cave when they were drawn.

“I’ve broken every lamp we own at least once,” Hornblower murmured, cheeks darkening again with embarrassment. “It’s a fairly reliable indicator that a bad spell’s on its way. My eyes begin to hurt, and I’ll suddenly lose my temper and smash the damn thing. Archie’s of the mind that it would be nice if I could simply put out the light before we’re left picking glass out of the carpet, but there’s something terribly satisfying about the crash, at that moment, anyway.” He looked down then, a terrible sadness crossing his features, and Bush fumbled for words, knowing they wouldn’t lift his sorrow but unable to sit helpless and not try.

“Mr. Hornblower-- Horatio-- I--”

“There’s a pretty irony in it, don’t you think, William?” His voice was so low Bush had to lean forward to hear it, an odd parody of the confessional in their postures and averted eyes. “All that happened on Renown-- the business in Kingston-- all because Sawyer’s madness let him unfit--” He broke off with a sharp exhalation, fingers clenching against the arms of his chair. “I sometimes wonder if this isn’t some kind of punishment for my pride, for defying my captain.”

“That’s nonsense,” Bush interrupted gently. “Reason it out, man-- if that was the case, Mr. Kennedy and I would be struck down as well, him probably first of all, since I recall rebellion on his mind long before yours.”

Could an expression so sad still be called a smile? “His words exactly, William. He won’t hear anything of the sort from me, and he has all manner of accusations about me twisting facts to fit the story I want to hear, one that lets me play the martyr. As if he isn’t doing just the same for his own story, where we’re both victims of cruel fate.” He laughed wearily. “Well, reason and love keep little company nowadays, as the play says.”

Bush sat still for a moment, unsure of what to take from that, until Hornblower met his eyes with a clear look of challenge. “I never took you for such a fan of the theater, Horatio,” he said at last, seizing upon the trivial. “That’s your second reference of the afternoon.”

“One can’t live with Archie for very long without developing an appreciation in self-defense,” came the reply, but the challenging eyes didn’t waver. “Do you honestly mean that you never suspected, William?”

“There was never any reason for speculation. I am not an idle gossip.” _Suspected_ \-- no, never anything so concrete and common. Perhaps a vague unsettlement at the way their eyes met sometimes, the way each assumed ownership and protection of the other in the tense maneuverings on Renown, the frantic edge in Hornblower’s manner when Kennedy was so ill in Kingston. But never a _suspicion_. It was beneath every dignity of an officer.

“Indeed,” Horatio admitted, tilting his head back again. “Would that all men were so virtuous as you. I could have spared myself a great deal of fear over the years.” He was quiet for a moment, and his voice wavered a bit when he went on. “Forgive me if the subject makes you uncomfortable-- but as I said, it’s so terribly tiring, keeping up all these lies.”

“I’m honored to be in your confidence, sir,” Bush murmured.

“He’s written you.” Horatio squared his shoulders, and for a moment Bush was reminded of Samana Bay-- a man prepared to face his own possible destruction. “Perhaps he’s able to be a bit more-- candid.” His breathing had quickened a bit, and acquired a hoarse edge; whatever he was about to say, it unsettled him. “Does he give the impression that he is as-- content with the situation as he would have me believe?”

“I’m not sure,” Bush said dryly. “How content is that?” Hornblower’s eyes narrowed, and Bush relented, unwilling to agitate the man over a poor jest. “If you mean to ask if he has expressed any regrets, the answer is no.”

Horatio closed his eyes and went so still for a moment that Bush became concerned, but the dark eyes opened again before he could enquire. They were full of tears, however, which was every bit as unnerving. “In truth, then, he’s far too good for me,” Horatio murmured. “I thought as much.”

“Horatio,” Bush said, leaning forward hesitantly. “Forgive my forwardness, but-- if you truly feel yourself a burden to him, then why don’t you--” He hesitated, searching for a delicate turn of phrase. “Take matters into your own hands? You’re a grown man, you don’t require permission in order to--”

“Have myself put away.” He smiled, a faint, bitter twist of his gaunt face that left Bush with the uncomfortable sensation of a man stumbling across pagan rites for the dead. “In truth, William? Simply put, I am a coward.”

Bush said nothing, only inclined his head and waited for the man to go on. After only a brief hesitation, he did.

“I’m not afraid of...how it might be there. I’ll scarcely be aware of it anyway. What frightens me is-- him.” He laughed at Bush’s expression, the sound as twisted as his smile. “You know him well enough by now to answer this, William. If I took myself to Bedlam, or put a pistol to my head, or-- hanged myself in the parlor-- would he _ever_ forgive me?” The hitches in his voice, half-choked pauses in his list of possibilities, left it clear in Bush’s mind that Hornblower had carefully considered each one, as coolly and rationally as any option he’d weighed on the quarterdeck. He pushed the thought aside as best he could to consider the man’s question.

“No,” he said at last, thinking on Kennedy’s deep stubbornness and capacity to hold a grudge, more than a match for Hornblower’s similar traits, and more easily roused to passion. “I must say that I cannot see that he would.”

“And I cannot bear the thought,” Horatio said softly. “If there is an afterlife, I cannot stand to think that he might turn away from me there.” He let out another shaky laugh, though his eyes still glittered suspiciously. “And so the supposed hero dies a craven man.”

“I do not agree, sir,” Bush murmured, but before he could attempt to support that, Jane appeared in the garden again, looking over at them in frank curiosity as she fussed over an herb bed.

“Damn it,” Horatio muttered, twisting in his chair to gesture sharply at her. “Nosy little...” She gathered her skirts and flounced back into the house, shooting a poisonous glare over her shoulder.

“I must say she doesn’t seem terribly fond of you either,” Bush said, and Hornblower’s cheeks darkened into a blush again.

“Yes, well.” He fidgeted slightly in his chair. “Apparently, on an occasion when I was-- not myself-- I made some rather unpleasant accusations, about her and Archie--” He cut himself off, staring down at the grass. “Archie assures me that I was quite unforgivably rude.”

“Why did she not leave?” Bush could not imagine the reserved Mr. Hornblower ever behaving in a way that could be termed “unforgivably rude,” but the unwritten lines of Kennedy’s letters hinted at a dark and alien aspect to his attacks of illness, changes in personality as well as eerie strength.

“She claims to understand that I was unwell,” Horatio said stiffly, and Bush nodded; of course condescension from a servant would be intolerable to a man of Hornblower’s pride.

They sat in silence for a time, watching the quiet life of the country farmland, until the house door opened again and Kennedy crossed the lawn to join them.

“I told you he wouldn’t rest,” Horatio murmured, and indeed, to Bush’s eye Kennedy did not look particularly refreshed.

His smile was ready enough, though, as he reached the chairs. “How goes the afternoon, gentlemen?”

“Well,” Horatio said, smiling up at him and reaching out to catch his hand. Kennedy glanced sharply at Bush, who feigned a sudden interest in his own shoe buckles.

“Archie, it’s all right,” Horatio said coaxingly. “William is hardly likely to turn us in to be hanged.”

“It’s simply that I never thought to see the day when you would discard caution,” Kennedy retorted, but his other hand sought Horatio’s shoulder, and his expression relaxed into clear relief.

“You may rely on my discretion as ever,” Bush said, glancing first at the sky and then at his watch. “But I fear I shall miss the coach if I don’t depart soon.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Kennedy offered, and when Bush protested, pressed, “At least to the crossroads.”

Halfway, then. Perhaps the man wished to unburden himself of yet one more thought. Bush wasn’t entirely sure he could stand any more startling revelations today without losing his calm, but there was nothing to do but agree.

“I wish you a safe voyage, William,” Horatio said when they reached the house, clasping his hand. “And gentle seas.”

“And to you, sir,” Bush replied, reaching out to grip his shoulder. It was too much for his shy friend, who took a step back and edged toward the stairs, glancing at Kennedy.

“Don’t forget my letter. It’s on the hall table,” he muttered, and fled. Kennedy sighed softly and gestured once again for William to precede him out.

They walked most of the way quietly, engaging only in talk of the inconsequential, and if Kennedy had wished to unburden himself of anything more, he’d had a change of heart. Finally, though, as they approached the crossroads where they had agreed to part, Bush could not help but ask a question that had troubled _him_ throughout the afternoon.

“Archie,” he said hesitantly, and the man turned to face him, raising one eyebrow. “I admire your devotion, and your determination to be with him until the end, but--” as Kennedy’s jaw tightened and his eyes flashed irritation, Bush hurried to finish “-- but what then? What will you do...after?”

Kennedy was silent for a moment, staring at him as if that was a very foolish question indeed. And when he answered, Bush realized that of course it had been.

“Why, mourn him,” Kennedy said quietly, and with a small nod, he turned and began his walk home.  
***  
Jane met him at the gate, explaining that her work was done and if he didn’t mind too terribly, she’d like to begin her day off a bit early to visit a sister who’d taken ill. Too tired to particularly care if she was coloring the truth, and absently praying that it wasn’t another scene with Horatio that was driving her from the house, he said of course, and she skipped off down the lane. He locked the gate behind her and walked up to the house, glancing at the sun sliding down behind the orchard. Another day gone beyond recall-- but quite a good one, all told. It would be improperly nosy to try and ferret out what Horatio and William had discussed while alone, but when Archie had rejoined them, Horatio had looked more relaxed and content than he could recall in ages, and that was worth any price.

He assumed Horatio would have retired, an afternoon of even idle conversation being more activity than he was used to, but when he looked through the half-open door at the top of the stairs, he saw that the bed was empty and undisturbed. A familiar cold stab of fear raced through him, one he had not entirely been free of since the trouble began and his own knowledge of Horatio’s damned self-sacrificing impulses began to poison his sleep. He shoved the door open, frantically glancing around the little room, eyes baffled by the dim light.

“ _If poisonous minerals, and if that tree/Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us,/If lecherous goats, if serpents envious/Cannot be damn'd, alas, why should I be?/Why should intent or reason, born in me,/Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous?/And mercy being easy, and glorious/To God, in his stern wrath why threatens he?_ ” The words came in a slow, thoughtful voice, and he turned to see Horatio curled in an armchair under the window, a blanket over his legs and a book in his hands. He looked up from the pages at Archie, a troubled frown marring his face, so pale but still so lovely. “Why is that, do you think? Why do we have to be punished simply for loving, and feeling, and-- having the hearts that God gave us? It hardly seems fair.”

Archie’s voice caught in his throat. Of course Horatio saw a punishment in a cruel, fickle fall of chance, and could read it into the words of a poet long dead. “Helping yourself to my library, I see,” he finally managed. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a fan of Donne.”

Horatio smiled faintly, tapping the book against the arm of the chair. “He does have a certain way with words.”

“I hadn’t heard.” Archie could not help but smile back-- how long had it been since Horatio had even so gently teased him?

“I’ll have you know I quoted Shakespeare twice this afternoon.” Horatio placed his marker in the book and set it carefully on the floor. “William was most impressed.”

“I’ve finally had some influence on you,” Archie chuckled. “A point of pride, infecting the mathematical Mr. Hornblower with literature.”

Horatio shifted in the chair. “Come here. I can hardly see you over there in the dark.”

Archie obliged, and when he was close enough, Horatio caught his hand and pulled him down into his lap.

“What’s this for?” Archie asked, laughing softly and easing himself half onto the arm of the chair to keep from crushing Horatio. The chair wasn’t really big enough for both of them. Horatio responded by twisting under him, squirming around until he could press his face against Archie’s side. Automatically, Archie’s arm found its way around Horatio’s shoulders, and the other hand brushed loose dark curls back off his face. “Horatio?” he questioned. This gentle, clumsy affection was more than welcome, of course, but unusual lately-- what had brought it on?

“I only love you,” Horatio muttered into Archie’s shirt, peering up at him. Only one dark eye was visible in that position, and the melting, pure honesty in it left Archie stunned silent, able only to run his fingers through Horatio’s hair again.

“I do love you, Archie.” His voice was soft, tired-- but there was a strange serenity there as well; strange because Archie wasn’t accustomed to the notion of Horatio Hornblower ever being at peace. “More than anything. And if you did not love me in return, I think I would be lost.”

“I won’t leave you.” Archie smoothed the back of Horatio’s shirt with his other hand, feeling the heart beating strong and steady in his torso, even far too thin as he was.

“I know.” Horatio snuggled even closer to him in the chair, closing his eyes tightly and burrowing like a rabbit, seeming to try to merge their bodies into one. And why not, Archie thought, tangling his fingers in those curls again. Their souls were already merged so.

“I can’t bear to think about leaving you,” Horatio said. “You must loan me some of your courage, Archie.”

“All I have is yours.” He tightened his arms around Horatio, wishing he could share his health, his strength-- Horatio deserved those, and more. Damn it, he deserved better than this.

Horatio smiled a little at that. “It’s all that I need.” He sighed and eased away a bit. “You were right, by the way. It was good to see William.”

Yes, quite good, once it had occurred to Horatio to use the visit to carry his resignation back to the Navy and resolve his guilty conscience for failing to serve. He didn’t challenge Horatio on the point, though, only smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “You look tired, though.”

Horatio made a face. “If I am, it’s tired of sleeping all the damn time. Our little lives are rounded with a sleep...”

Archie deliberately pushed away the context of the quotation-- such stuff as dreams are made on, indeed-- and smiled indulgently. “A third reference today, Mr. Hornblower? Are you expecting some sort of reward?”

“I had rather hoped for one,” Horatio murmured, laying a hand above Archie’s knee to imply his meaning. The glance he gave Archie next-- hopeful and heated and far more articulate than he would ever be, no matter how well he learned to parrot Shakespeare-- clarified that meaning beyond any shadow of doubt.

For a moment, Archie only stared at him, thrilled and puzzled at once-- it was unsurprisingly rare anymore for Horatio to express any kind of lustful interest; sickness of body, mind, and heart all together left little energy for amorous pursuits. And most of the time Archie was too exhausted and heartsick himself to particularly care. It added a bitter layer of irony Horatio’s obscene accusations about Jane when he was unwell,-- his surprisingly filthy and specific obscene accusations; where had gentle, endlessly proper Horatio ever _heard_ such things?-- since Archie was far too drained by loyalty to Horatio to even consider seducing the maid.

His hesitation went on for too long, and Horatio’s smile faded. He withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry, I--”

“No, no,” Archie said, catching Horatio’s face between his hands and turning it back to where he could kiss it gently across the forehead. “I only wondered if you--”

Horatio silenced him in the most obvious way, and Archie gave in, letting himself get lost in the feeling of that soft, warm mouth against his. For the first time he could recall in a long while, Horatio didn’t seem desperate or angry. There were no demands in his mouth or hands as they touched Archie’s body, only gentle desire. And it made sense, Archie realized, as he shifted about, trying to find a more practical angle for kissing in that damnedable chair. Horatio needed symbols and ceremony; they made things real for him. Today he had formally broken his ties to the past, to the life he’d had and the future he’d dreamed of. He’d finally been able to accept the present as it was, and the future that _would_ be; too brief and full of too much pain, and so much less than what he should have had. But there was love-- honest and genuine and his alone-- and at last he seemed ready to be thankful for that.

“We’re both going to end up with stiff necks,” Horatio chuckled, pulling away. “Perhaps we could move this to somewhere a bit more comfortable.”

“And look, there just happens to be a bed in this very room,” Archie said, grinning back at him. Oh, for just a moment, let them pretend it was old days again...

Horatio sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to grab Archie’s hands and pull him close. He sank back flat on the mattress, letting Archie’s weight carry him down, his hands slipping up under Archie’s shirt and moving restlessly over his back. “Tell me you love me,” he whispered. “Like you used to when we were younger. Tell me that hasn’t changed.”

“It has, though.” Archie buried his face in the curve of Horatio’s throat, kissing the soft skin for a moment, letting the tension of uncertainty build just a bit, knowing Horatio well enough to know exactly how long he could stand it. “I love you even more.”

Horatio let out a soft, startled gasp and pulled Archie’s head back up again, kissing his mouth over and over while his hands slid frantically down Archie’s body. For a few moments they didn’t speak, only fumbled together on the bed, hungry to be closer, frustrated by barriers of clothing and flesh. Horatio broke away finally, panting and flush-faced, pushing Archie away far enough to meet his eyes.

“You won’t forget me, will you?” he asked, his breathing hoarse and uneven, his eyes suddenly bright with terrible fear. “When I-- after. You won’t forget?”

“Never,” Archie said, leaning down to kiss him once more and reaching for the buttons of Horatio’s trousers. He didn’t want to think about that now, didn’t want to invite grief back into their bed when they’d only just cast it out and it would come back on its own soon enough. But Horatio was resisting, turning his head away.

“Nobody else will remember,” he said. “Not an hour after the coffin’s in the ground. They’ve forgotten already, I’m sure. But you won’t forget me?”

Archie drew back. They had to lay this to rest there and then, or it would poison Horatio with doubt the way the Navy had before that afternoon. “Of course I won’t,” he said impatiently. “Did you forget about me when I was in prison? You could be courteous enough to _pretend_ that you believe I love you just as well.”

“That was two years,” Horatio said. “You’re going to live much longer than that. You’ll love again, you’ll have a life, and I’ll--” He was trembling now, shaking under Archie’s hands while his own roamed fitfully over Archie’s arms. “I’ll be gone a very long time. I suppose I couldn’t blame you if you forgot.”

“Remember thee! Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat in this distracted globe. Remember thee! Yea, from the table of my memory I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records, all saws of books, all forms, all pressures past...” He punctuated the lines with kisses, and now Horatio accepted them, looking up at him with dazed wonder in his eyes. Archie took advantage of the moment to shove his hand down between them, succeeding in overcoming the buttons and reaching his goal. Horatio shuddered, biting his lip as Archie began to caress him.

“Been a while, hasn’t it?” Archie teased. “I’m not entirely certain I remember how it all goes...”

“Liar,” Horatio gasped, twisting up against Archie’s hand. “But no, don’t-- not like that--” He blushed, swallowing hard as Archie stopped. “I want to see you come with me,” he said in a barely audible voice, eyes averted.

Archie froze for a moment, startled by such a request from modest and proper Horatio. But he couldn’t claim to object to the idea, and the sight of Horatio red-faced and ashamed hurt him inside. He captured Horatio’s mouth again, assuring him of his acceptance, and eased up to match his hips to Horatio’s, grinding them together slowly.

For a moment it was perfect, and Archie began to lose himself in the growing pleasure, in Horatio’s soft gasps and incoherent mutterings, in the illusion that they’d escaped the fear and uncertainty of their lives for just this little time.

Suddenly Horatio hissed in pain, his eyes going wide.

“Archie,” he gasped, “you’ve got to do something with your trousers-- the _buttons_ \-- they’re--”

It took a moment for the sense of that to sink through Archie’s mind. Then he met Horatio’s eyes and they both began to laugh, softly at first and then louder and louder until they were fortunate that Jane had left them alone in the house. Archie rolled off of him and curled up at his side, shaking helplessly with laughter.

“Oh, God,” Horatio said finally, burying his face in Archie’s shoulder. “When was the last time we laughed? I can’t remember.”

“Neither can I,” Archie admitted, cupping Horatio’s chin in his hand and tilting his head up to look into his eyes. “But I won’t forget it.”

Horatio kissed him again, and Archie wiggled out of the offending trousers before they could create any more delays. Neither he nor Horatio could change the future, or escape it. But they could hide from it for an hour, steal every moment that they could, and Archie would remember, always...

They moved together more slowly, savoring the growing intensity of feeling, the sensation of skin and breath and sweat against flesh. And for once it ended perfectly, or near enough-- what Horatio had wanted, anyway, with each of them looking into the other’s eyes when the pleasure peaked for both of them together.

Afterwards, they lay curled together under the blankets. Horatio fell asleep quickly, as Archie expected-- he’d exerted himself far more today than he had in a good long while. But his face was relaxed and peaceful in sleep; it had all been fairly pleasant exertion. Archie smiled to himself and pressed a kiss to Horatio’s forehead. Yes, of course, pleasant enough as such things went...

He thought back over the years, all the time they’d known each other, as lovers and friends and brothers in arms. He remembered the paralyzing pain and fear of Kingston, the night before the tribunal convicted Buckland, when he’d been so certain they’d sacrifice Horatio instead. He’d come up with a frantic plan to take the punishment himself, anything to save Horatio and set him free. They had always been willing to bear pain for the other’s sake-- it was the deepest and most basic gift they gave each other.

He couldn’t do that now, and no matter how he had raged at God since the whole mess had begun, that wasn’t going to change. But he could stand by, and help with the pain where he could, and help Horatio forget about it for brief snatches of time.

And once it was over, once Horatio was gone, to God or whatever lay beyond in Hamlet’s undiscovered country...well, then Archie would be able to pick up the burden, able to take the pain into his heart and carry it for as long as he lived, for as long as fate would have it. If he couldn’t walk through the fire for Horatio now, he would walk with it, for the rest of his life. It wasn’t what he would have chosen, but it would serve well enough.

Horatio stirred in his sleep, and Archie drew him closer, imprinting the feel of his body and his breath into heart and mind. Let the world flood again, let it turn to ice, let it burn to ashes. He would remember.

**Author's Note:**

> The illness in question is acute intermittent porphyria, sometimes called “the madness of King George,” which is weirdly era-appropriate...clearly, I am not a doctor, and most of my information on the illness came from portrayals on TV, supplemental research via Google, and mini-accounts I’ve read about King George III. This is fictional-license AIP and probably bears little resemblance to the actual illness.
> 
> Quotations:  
> “I am but mad north-northwest. When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw”- Hamlet  
> “Reason and love keep little company nowadays”- Midsummer Night’s Dream  
> “ Our little lives are rounded with a sleep”- The Tempest  
> “If poisonous serpents, and that tree...”- John Donne, sonnets  
> “Remember thee! Ay, poor ghost...” - Hamlet  
> 


End file.
